


Promises Better Left Unsaid

by Sharadethia



Series: Dragon Age Ficlets [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Grief, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharadethia/pseuds/Sharadethia
Summary: As Hawke mourns the death of her mother, she ekes a promise from Anders, one which he will probably regret.Written for the prompt: "I would do it for you."





	Promises Better Left Unsaid

 

Hawke lay on her opulent bed, her head tilted to her right so that her blood-shot eyes could watch the leaping fire in her fireplace. Someone had started it, though she did not remember who. Even with the flames blinding her, she could still see in her mind’s eye her mother limp in her arms, so heavy, so wrong. The memory of that day left her desolate and filled her heart with lead. Her eyes too were heavy, full of tears that she could not shed. No matter what thoughts or memories ebbed through her mind, Hawk could not manage to make the tears fall. 

Angrily, Hawke rubbed her palms against her eyes, wishing that she could finally bid the tears to come, because anything was better than this silent and overbearing sorrow that she could not cleanse herself of. 

“Hawke?” 

The familiar voice was enough to jolt the nearly-catatonic woman into reality, even if only for a moment. She shifted her head so that she could see the familiar, lanky frame in the doorway. Of course it was Anders and of course he had a plate in hand.  Blue eyes met gold ones for a moment before Hawke simply let her head roll back to the position it had been in before.

“Hawke?” Anders asked again, stepping forward hurriedly. Hawke saw him kneel beside her and noted a hand on her forehead, but she didn’t really feel anything at all.

“Hawke, are you okay?”

He sounded desperate, panicked, but the bitter words left her lips before she could censor them.

“A stupid question.”

Her own voice sounded strange in her ears, too rough and cracking. And her eyes still burned, they burned so much, and she wanted nothing more than to cry. Maker, why was she so cold?

“Bodahn said you haven’t eaten in two days. You need to eat.”

“Does this look like your clinic?” Hawke demanded. 

At this, she heard Anders give a deep sigh. If her heart wasn’t pounding in her ears, maybe she would have felt guilty. 

The mage stood up, set the food by the fireplace, presumably to keep it warm, and began to pull off his boots. Hawke, however, simply brought her eyes back to the leaping flames. She wanted to sob for her dead mother, for her dead brother, for her dead father, for every person she had ever failed. In the light of the fire she could see Carver taking his last breath moments before hitting the ground. She could see her mother, her sweet, overbearing mother standing up from that chair with jerky motions, all-together unnatural.

“Please look at me,” Anders asked tentatively, settling himself back in front of his lover, his friend. 

It took everything inside of Hawke to look away from all of her failures to meet the eyes of one of the few people that still lived to care about her. Ander’s eyes were filled with a sympathy that made her stomach churn. She would rather have him tell her that it was all her fault, that she was weak. Anything to reinforce the half-formed tormented thoughts in her head. 

He smelled of mold, elfroot, and a startlingly abrasive soap that he must have bought for a copper or two in Darktown. He was always the same. Always the healer with his crooked smile and his creeds. 

“What can I do?”

“You can kill them.”

“What?” Anders managed to choke out as her empty eyes locked with his. 

“Any mage that does that. I want them dead. I want to see them die in their own blood. I want them to taste my pain.”

“Hawke, dear,” Anders started, moving a hand to her greasy black hair. 

It was too sweet, too patronizing. Her hand snapped up to grab Anders by his too-thin wrist and slam his hand against the headboard hard enough to make the bed shake. 

“You know that mages are forced to become like that. No mage wants to become some… monster. They just fear being powerless.” 

“Like me?” Hawke asked bitterly, still holding his hand against the wood.  “How long is it until I become like them? When I’ve lost too many people, and I decide it would just be better to make a pact with a demon? Maybe I could protect the people I love then.”

It was then that the tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes. 

“How many more times will this happen? How long until you’re dead, and I’m alone?” 

A sob wracked through her exhausted body so violently that Anders jumped up, wrenching his hand free from Hawke’s, expecting a seizure of some sort. It was only when he saw the tears running down her face and her mouth opened into a silent scream that he calmed down. 

“That won’t happen,” Anders promised, settling onto the bed so he could cradle Hawke’s head. 

“You… You have to promise me something…” Hawke demanded through her sobs. 

“Yes, anything,” Anders offered perhaps too quickly.

“If I get too close to that… you… need to kill me.”

Anders closed his eyes, not willing to make a promise that he certainly couldn’t keep. Instead of saying anything, he gently began to run his hand through her black hair.

“Promise me,” she begged as she curled in on herself.

Reluctantly, Anders let a lie slip from his lips. 

“I would do it for you.”


End file.
